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Updated: May 21, 2025
"But the boats are still here, sir," objected Greer. "There seems to be no explanation," gloomed Caradoc. "If we gathered this up and took it to the men, they would thank us heartily," suggested Greer. "That's a fact," agreed Madden, setting to work at once. "Here, pile these plates on trays and we'll load 'em in the small boat."
"That's the point: This is not a stagnant sea. There is a current of about six miles a day in the Sargasso, very slow, but it will change a ship's reckoning." Greer remained unimpressed. "What do you make of that?" "Make of that! Why, man, the person who took this reckoning, took it this morning! That's the only way he could have got it.
It's old Prendergast. I'm thinking he won't last much longer." "D'ye mean Daniel? The Member?" "I do." Father Greer took his thin nose, with the nostrils edged with red, between his finger and thumb, and pinched it slowly downwards several times. "Well, what then?" he said at length.
Greer paused in his work to wave a hand, which was extremely sociable for him. The men bunched on the forward pontoon, waved and shouted at the little boat. As the noise grew louder, questions shaped themselves in the uproar. "W'ot did ye make of 'er?" "Was there anywan aboard?" "W'ot ship is she?" "Can we git a berth hoff this bloomin' dock?"
The air quivered with expectations of a railroad, maybe two or three, and each cluster of hovels expected to find itself in a short time constituted the county-seat, with a gleaming steel road at its back door. This spirit of optimism was but a reflection of the miraculous growth of the new country of which Greer County, though owned by Texas, felt itself, in a sense, an integral part.
The latter ducked and involuntarily raised his fist; then, ere Greer and some of the others stepped between, turned and walked away. "That will do, Cloud," said Remsen in sharp, incisive tones. "You may leave." And with a muttered word of anger Cloud strode from the field, passing through the silent and unsympathetic throng with pale face and black looks.
TO DR. DAVID H. GREER 12 Newbury Street, Boston, May 8, 1899. ...Each day brings me all that I can possibly accomplish, and each night brings me rest, and the sweet thought that I am a little nearer to my goal than ever before. My Greek progresses finely. I have finished the ninth book of the "Iliad" and am just beginning the "Odyssey." I am also reading the "Aeneid" and the "Eclogues."
Some are unobservant, or perhaps simply inarticulate; others, when going beyond the bald statistics of their job, tend to drop into sentiment and cinema scenes; and none but H. Macy Greer has the gift of making the thing told seem as true as if one had seen it.
The savages did not observe him, as he took good care they should not; so he returned quickly to where Major Greer was standing by his camp-fire and reported the presence of a village very close at hand. The Major having sent for Tom Tobin and Uncle Dick Wooton, requested them to go and find the exact location of the savages.
Eustace full-back between him and the goal and then ran plump into that full-back's arms; that Greer and Barnard and Littlefield stood like a stone wall and went down like one; that Wills kicked, and Post kicked, and Warren kicked, and none of them accomplished aught save to wring groans from the souls of all who looked on. In short, it was St.
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